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Beck couldn’t believe his eyes. It had only taken a second to see what he’d seen as he passed this motel room on the way to his own, but what he’d seen had been burned into his retinas. Half of him had wanted to, had tried to stop and stare, but the other half had kept control of his legs and kept him moving.
The room he’d looked into was dark, save for a shaft of light from the bathroom. It was the movement that had caught his eye, unexpected in a motel room with open curtains. Two men were on the bed, silhouetted in the bathroom light, one on his back, naked, his legs in the air above him. And over him, on top of him, was a taller, leaner man, pinning the other’s hands to the baseboard. He still had his baggy black t-shirt on, his cargo shorts down around his knees, as he pumped furiously, slamming his cock into the other man’s ass, knocking his head against the wall. It was as if the guy on top had seen the naked man through the window, and just walked in through an unlocked door, dropped trou, and started fucking, without even bothering to close the curtains.
The man getting fucked was probably groaning or even shouting, but Beck couldn’t hear anything. The motel was in a crowded, busy part of San Francisco, right on Market Street, and it was ten o’clock on a Thursday night. There were bars all around the area and people were outside on the sidewalks shouting, smoking, laughing. You’d think everyone would be home getting ready for work tomorrow, Beck thought, before remembering how many people in the city didn’t work an ordinary office job like he did. The roar of cars on the freeway nearby added to the din, as did the astonishing number of people at the motel hanging out on the balconies, in the parking lot, doors to their rooms wide open. This place was party central, he thought.
Beck had made two mistakes, he realized as his hand shakily fumbled the key card into the lock of his room. He’d neglected to see if there were any conventions in town before setting up a business meeting at the last minute, thinking he could surely get a room with no problem this time of year. And when he discovered he’d been shut out of the better hotels, he’d booked the room at the VacaLodge without looking at the reviews. The location had sounded convenient, not a “bad neighborhood,” so what was the worst that could happen?
This place was a dump, he thought as he entered the room, the smell of old smoke and mildew tickling his nostrils. The room was as minimally functional as you could probably legally get. A full-size bed, a nightstand, a rickety “desk” and chair, and an old tube TV. He investigated the bathroom – tiny, not very clean, stains in the shower and thin, scratchy towels, the kind only someone desperate or compulsive would steal.
What seemed like a loud argument in the next room turned out to be, as he stood still to listen, just a loud conversation – the walls were that thin. He could hear every word of a drug deal, in which two men were arguing about whether the cost of the sack was fifty bucks, or fifty bucks and a blow job, and it better be a hell of a blow job. He almost thought he could hear the two men he’d seen fucking from two rooms away, and maybe he could.
He set up his laptop and his hotspot on the little desk, not trusting the motel’s wifi to work, or to be secure if it did. Out of curiosity he went to some travel sites and pulled up the motel’s reviews.
“This place is a whorehouse! Guys are cruising all night long and will look in your window if you don’t shut your curtains!” Beck had to laugh at that – well, shut your fucking curtains, moron! “This is not a place where people check in to go to sleep.” “Terrible security, men were cruising for sex all night long. Yelling all night long from the bars. People ‘partying’ next door. Motorcycles coming and going in the parking lot.”
Beck sighed. It was probably going to be a long night. One last review caught his eye. “This place is notorious for one thing especially – straight guys looking for gay guys to suck them off, or more. They get high and horny and then come around to cruise the rooms late at night. Beware! I got robbed!” Yeah, he thought, after you let the guy in your room, and sucked him off, right?
Beck unpacked his bathroom things and stripped down to his briefs. Even in the sickly fluorescent light of the bathroom, he looked pretty good, he thought. He looked like what he was, a successful guy in his mid-twenties, who took good care of his body. He couldn’t help but compare himself to the naked guy he’d seen in the room down the way. How would I look with my legs in the air, curtains open? he thought with a smile. Pretty fucking good, he decided. Not that I’d ever do that, he added hastily to himself.
He thought about changing and going out to the gay bars. I’d better lock my computer in the trunk of the car if I do that, he decided, wondering how hard it would be for a burglar to get past the electronic lock on his door. He didn’t plan on bringing anyone back here; he wasn’t much for anonymous hookups but it could be fun just to have a couple beers and check it out, since it looked damn busy out there for a weeknight. And besides, his meeting wasn’t till ten tomorrow morning, so he could sleep in…assuming the noise outside and in the rooms around him would die down sometime and let him sleep at all.
He put his suitcase on the bed and started going through it for his bathroom stuff. A loud thump from upstairs made him drop a rolled-up pair of socks on the floor, which he accidentally kicked under the bed. He got down on his hands and knees to get them and saw a little suitcase under the frame.
“What the fuck?” he said out loud, then wondered if the next room could hear that, too. But they had moved on from arguing over the drug deal, and were now getting high and arguing over who was taking a bigger hit off the pipe. He pulled the suitcase out, put it on the bed next to his own, and opened it.
“Damn,” he whispered. Someone had left their…sex kit behind. He carefully lifted each item, just in case there were any nasty surprises in there. But it was all clean, almost tidy – a chain harness, cock rings, a couple unopened bottles of lube…a pair of handcuffs, the real deal, Beck thought, feeling their weight. And there next to them, on a hard-to-lose ring, were two cuff keys. At least you wouldn’t have to worry about not getting out of them, Beck thought. At least if the guy who cuffed you let you out…
And at the bottom of all this was a laptop. Beat up, scratched, but intact with power supply. 17 inch screen. Bet it’s got some guy’s carefully curated porn collection on it, Beck thought. Only one way to find out.